by Cassie Mae
Nothing. No answer, not a camera—that I can see—and no sign of life. I scratch at the back of my head, reaching under my helmet to get the itch, then pull my phone out.
Hey, I’m here, I text to Candace, then settle on my bike. She answers immediately.
I live in the guest house. You can park there.
Uh… okay… Maybe her family doesn’t own this massive property, and a twinge of relief hits me squarely in the chest at the thought. I hate to admit when I’m jealous as hell, but my face was turning greener and greener the longer I stood in front of this gate.
The front gate is locked. Is there a way around?
I straddle my bike and pull up my face covering while I wait. My phone buzzes at the same time as a creak echoes across the road.
Sorry, I forgot! Opening it now.
The creaky gate opens in the middle, swinging inward. The crest splits in half, leaving the horse engraved in the iron headless on one side and bodyless on the other.
I slip my phone away and start the bike up, breathing heavy as I take the long, winding driveway into the property. This feels straight up out of a crime show, and I would probably be more worried if it wasn’t Candace who invited me here.
I pass a massive farmhouse with a wrap-around deck, assuming it’s the main house. But when I get farther up the road and see the humongous mansion, I turn back around.
Candace is out on the front deck, pacing its length. She has no coat on, so she’s rubbing her hands up and down her arms and talking to herself through chattering teeth. I hold back my amusement as I dismount, dig out her long list, and shove it into my back pocket. I hope she’s okay that I parked close so I can get some of that porch cover for my bike. Not really feeling ready to pull out my tarp.
“Hey,” I say, and her wide eyes flick up. She gives me a barely there wave.
The deck is made out of that same quality wood that’s surrounding the place. There are no carvings, but there are several wind chimes making a hell of a lot of noise.
“Probably should go inside, yeah?” I tease over the tinkling chimes.
She rolls her eyes. “You think?”
“Well, hello to you too.”
She passes me, still rubbing her arms like she’s trying to catch them on fire. “Sorry,” she says through chattering teeth. “There’s just… There’s a spider in there.”
“Oh no, what’ll we do?”
“Shut up. The thing is huge. Probably on holiday from Australia.”
I bark out a laugh and ease toward the front door. “I see.” My glove slips on the door handle. “And spiders were what color again on your list?”
“Blue.”
“Perfect.” I give her a grin. “This’ll be lesson one for you, then.”
Her brow furrows at me, and she stops her pacing. “Blue is up there in the danger zone, Pete. It’s a degree below indigo.”
“Which is below purple.”
“Violet.”
“Whatever.” I push on the door handle and open it for her. “It’s low enough for you to go in there and kill the beast.”
Her eyes turn to perfect circles, and I hold in a laugh at how adorable that expression is. She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t want to kill it.”
I lean against the doorframe, the warmth from her house relaxing my shoulders. The scent of apple pie hangs in the air, and boy am I craving some of that.
“You want to be its friend or something?”
“No.” She frowns and cranes her neck to peek inside the open door. “I just want it… out of my house.”
“With this weather it’ll just climb right back in.”
“You can release it by the gate.”
“Me?” I bring a hand to my chest. “No, no… This is your assignment.”
“I can’t carry a spider all the way to the front gate.”
“Can you carry it outside?”
“No.” Her voice takes on a high-pitched squawk that gets a bolting laugh out of me. She takes a quick step forward just to smack my arm before she jumps away from the open door.
“Look,” I say, rubbing the spot she hit, “I’ve been out in this for a good twenty miles.” I gesture to the falling snow. “I’d really like to get inside.”
She makes a face, showing all her teeth and all her worry wrinkles. Her gaze drifts slowly to the door, her breath fogging out in quick bursts. “You first.”
I’ll take that as an invite to go on in. I kick my shoes off just outside; she probably doesn’t want my muddied up boots all over what I’m assuming is a pristine interior. My socks are pretty damn soaked as well, so I slip them off and lay them out. They’ll either dry or freeze by the time I leave.
“He’s in the kitchen,” she says over my shoulder, pushing up on tiptoe to get closer to my ear. I startle from the warmth of her breath and the warmth of her house, my fingers burning as soon as I get inside.
“Cool house,” I say, taking in the farm and cabin vibe. The rug looks freshly vacuumed, the wood floors without a speck of dust on them. I’m grateful for my instincts, because no way in hell would my muddy boots be allowed in here.
“Yeah, yeah,” she chatters behind me, her body tucking in awfully close. “Go get it.”
I chuckle. “But how will you learn?”
“Pick anything else off the list.”
“You want to talk about sex?” I snorted coffee through my nose when I saw the number one fear on her list, coded in the ultimate fear color, purple.
Sorry… violet.
Her brown eyes bug out at me, and she shakes her head hard. “I meant more of the red-orange range.”
“Can I ask why red is used for the lowest danger and violet for the highest? Kinda backward, don’t you think?” I shrug my coat off and reach over her to set it on the horseshoe themed coat rack near the door.
“That’s how I do things.” Her gaze juts to the side, and I follow it to the kitchen.
“Well, either it’s the spider or we chat about the beast with two backs.” My mouth splits in a wide grin, knowing exactly what she’ll choose. “Tick tock, Miss Rebel.”
“You’re so not playing fair.”
“I was hired to push you out of comfort zones.” I put my hands on her shoulders and twist her toward the kitchen. “So… push.” I lightly shove her forward, her feet stumbling over each other. A squeal escapes her, and I stifle a laugh so I don’t get a swat in the arm again.
“Oh gosh,” she breathes, shaking her head and taking a voluntary step toward the kitchen. She snatches the decorative bowl with wooden balls in it and dumps the contents onto the red and tan couch.
“Is that gonna be big enough?” I tease.
“Shut up.” Her head swivels left and right before her gaze lands on the piano. She rushes over, plucking a single piece of sheet music from the bench. She faces me, armed with a music page and a wicker basket, blowing out a breath. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”
“Go get him,” I encourage, stomping down my amusement over how ridiculous she looks. Can’t help my grin, though.
I settle against the back of the couch, crossing my legs at the ankles and letting my body warm up. Who knows if that spider is even still around. The thing most likely scuttled off when she flipped out and ran outside. But hey, going in where she found him will be one step toward conquering her fears.
Her eyes go up and down my relaxed posture. “Um… you’re coming in with me.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You need to teach me.”
“I should teach you how to kill it.”
“I’m not killing it.”
“It’d be easier.”
“And meaner.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
She glares at me. “I want to be a badas… a badas…”
“Ass.”
“Yes. Not just an… an…”
“Ass.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so what you’re saying is, trapping and releasing is badas
s,” I summarize, since she has a hard time with the word. “Killing is just… being an ass.”
She puts a finger to her nose. “Right.”
“Got it.” This might be trickier than I thought. “I’ll try to keep that in mind moving forward.” I push off the couch and head to the kitchen, my bare feet making barely a sound on the wood floor. I’ve never lived anywhere that didn’t creak every other step.
Candace follows me, keeping close, her hands up with the bowl and paper in the ready position. “He was over there.” She nods toward the counter by the stove. Hey, I was right. Apple pie.
“And he’s on vacation from Australia, huh?” I tease, but she nods like I’m not. I take the few steps toward the counter and that delicious scent, eyeing the freshly made pie. Did she bake just for me? Man, do I hope so.
I search the counter and the floor around it, finding nothing. “You wanna check over there?” I ask her, and she hides all but her eyes behind the bowl before searching her part of the kitchen.
After a good two, three minutes, the spider is nowhere to be found, and Candace is nowhere near feeling okay about that.
“What if it went into my bed?” she shrieks. “I won’t be able to sleep until we find it.”
“I’ll stick around for a bit.” I slowly reach for the bowl and sheet music, kinda like I’m taking a bone from a dog. I set them gently on the counter. “Maybe he ran out when you opened the door.”
“Spiders like warmth, Pete.”
“Most things do.” I kink my neck toward the fireplace. “Mind if I get my feet toasted?”
“Oh shoot, I’m sorry.” She grabs me by the sleeve and tugs me toward the couch. With a force I didn’t think her capable of, she shoves me into the cushion, tosses a blanket over me, and hurries to the front door. A few seconds later she’s got my socks and shoes in her hands, setting them up nicely in front of the fireplace.
“Thanks.” That was unexpectedly nice of her. Maybe this teaching thing will have perks besides the monetary ones.
“I’m usually a better hostess, but… spiders.” She shivers before taking a seat next to me. I hand her part of the blanket, and we bundle up.
“Does that mean I’ll get pie eventually?” I knock my shoulder into hers so she knows I’m teasing. Well, I’m pretending to tease. I really do want some.
“If you’re good.”
“But you hired me because I’m bad.”
She tosses her head back, her wavy, red-brown hair hitting me in the face. “Always need to argue with me, don’t you?”
“Part of my charm.” Hey, she argues with me, too.
Pete
The crackle of the fire fills the room, and the sun starts to fade. I tilt my head at my toes kicked up, the flames flickering beyond my feet, the smell of apple pie lingering in the air, and warmth in every inch of the room, not just the ones that need heat. It’s gotta be nice.
“You seriously live like this all the time?” I ask after a couple minutes.
“Like what?”
I take my hand from the blanket and wave it around. “This. You can afford this on your paycheck? ‘Cause I doubt it. We work at the same place.”
She lets out a laugh and sinks into the couch. Her hip slightly touches mine, but I don’t think she notices, since she keeps it there. “Here it comes.”
I jerk back at her tone. “Here what comes?”
Her head rolls toward me, the fire reflecting in her dark irises. “You’re going to give me the spoiled brat look.”
“There’s a look, huh?”
“Yep. And it happens every time I tell people that my parents own that house up there. That this guest house is usually rented out, but they gave it to me to use while I went to school… that they also pay for. Oh, and guess what? They pay my utilities, too.”
“Damn.” The word falls off my tongue, and yep, I’m giving her the look. I know it. She knows it. And I can’t help it.
“See!” She points at my face. “Told you.” A hollow laugh flutters from her lips, and she tucks her hand back under the blanket.
“You called it.”
“Finally, you agree with me.”
I smirk. “Is ‘the look’ why you never told me?” I thought I had her pretty much pegged as a person. We’ve worked together for two years. I know she’s an only child, that she started painting at the age of five, that she listens to country music, that she dropped out of university to start art school. I know her favorite color is all of them, that she cuts and dyes her hair every six weeks, that she’s ticklish on the elbow, and she loves to order virgin drinks in fancy glasses.
This is all that I’ve learned from her just by knowing her. Candace isn’t too much of a mystery, but her wealth is definitely something she’s kept hidden.
I am surprised by a few of her fears, though. I haven’t even gotten through the whole list.
Candace shifts and doesn’t answer. It’s cool if she doesn’t feel like sharing. I’m not too keen on letting her know my financial situation. Especially now.
I lean up and dig in my back pocket for her list. It’s damp and the ink is bleeding all over it. Candace’s mouth pops open, shock and disgust written in the darks of her eyes.
“Is that my list?”
“Thought we could go over some of these.” I peel it open, careful so I don’t rip the thing to pieces.
“Stop.” She snatches it from me and hoists herself out of the couch. The cushions are so comfy though it takes her a couple of tries, tripping over me to get to her feet. “I’m getting you a new one.”
“What’s wrong with that one?”
She glares at my joke, and then disappears down the hallway. I rub my hip where hers was keeping it warm, missing her body heat already. For such a little thing, she sure puts off heat like a radiator.
When she comes back, she slumps into the couch, her hip no longer up against mine, and hands me her new list.
I force down a laugh. It’s laminated.
“Can we start with the red ones?” she pleads. “I’m much better easing into things.”
“You don’t say.”
“I have a tendency to overshare when I get all panicky.”
My shoulders move in silent laughter. That is something I’m very familiar with from her. Probably why I know as much as I do.
“Well, before that… Can I ask how you know this guy is worth the trouble?” And by trouble, I mean money.
“Zach?”
“Unless there’s another guy you’re trying to impress.”
She sticks her tongue out at me before slouching into the back cushions. “You’ll think I’m stupid.”
“I’d never think you’re stupid.”
“Silly then.”
“Okay, yeah… maybe that.”
She lets out a long breath through her nostrils. Her teeth pull at the inside of her bottom lip, making her chin jut out. There’s a freckle by the left corner of her mouth, which is pretty darn cute. Haven’t noticed that one before.
“So, I got this super deep gut feeling when I first saw him.”
“Oh geez,” I say, a smile curling my lips. “You believe in love at first sight, do ya?”
“No. Maybe. Kind of.” She adjusts on the couch, kicking her feet up and sitting crisscross to face me. Her knee presses into my thigh and an unexplained kernel-like sensation pops through my skin. “I’m going to explain, so try to keep up.”
“You have my full attention.”
“I’m serious, Pete.”
“So am I.”
“Then why are you smiling like that?” Her finger juts out and points at me accusingly, and my smile only deepens.
“You’re being cute, is all.” Her bossiness has always been cute, and she hates it when I tell her that.
“Shut up.” Her gaze drops to the blanket between us, and even though she rolled her eyes at me, there’s a tinge of pink in her cheeks as she continues. “Okay, so… I’m not saying I love him or anything. It wasn’t th
at kind of epiphany per se. It was more like, wow… I’m ready to fall in love. Like, I want to be in love. I want the whole shebang, and if this guy makes me feel like that, then it must be a sign that I need to get to know him, get close to him, feel things I haven’t felt before.”
“Uh, huh…”
She narrows her eyes. “I know it’s a hard concept to grasp, but my gut has never let me down. You wouldn’t even be sitting here right now if I hadn’t followed it.”
“So this is your fault,” I say directly to her stomach. She puts a palm to my forehead and pushes me back.
“Pete…”
“Sorry, I’ll behave.” I zip my lips and tuck my hands under my chin, being a good boy.
“If you haven’t guessed just by knowing me for two years, my dates haven’t been exactly…” She waves a hand in my general direction, and I look over my shoulder for some kind of hint as to what the hell she means by that.
“Uh…”
She sighs. “My choice in guys has always been just like me, and not my complete opposite.”
“You think we’re complete opposites.”
She lets out an obvious pfft. Maybe if I wasn’t sitting in her mansion of a guest house, I’d have something to disagree with her about, but nope. “I suppose you’ve got a point.”
She pushes her forefinger into my leg, poking at me in a playful and absentminded manner. “You talked with him like you guys were old buddies.”
“Tattoos are conversation pieces.”
“I’m not getting one just to talk to him.”
“Not what I was suggesting.” I reach for the laminated list. “But we should talk about some of these fears.” Needles were on there, but they weren’t too high. Yellow, I think.
She nods, tucking her wavy hair behind her ears. It is weird to see her hair down. She usually wears it in a perfect ponytail that sticks out of her Troublemakers cap.
“Not that I’m questioning your teaching methods,” she starts, and I give her a look because she’s about to completely question my teaching method—or lack thereof. “But why did you need to know my fears? Can’t you just, give me a bad girl makeover or something?”
“If you want this to be just like Grease, then I’d do that.”
